Bye, Bye Love

by K. J. Larsen

  Max growled. “Did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Get this Neanderthal off me,” Doug sputtered. “Tell him who I am.”

  I squinted my eyes and checked out the guy on the grass.

  “I never saw this man before in my life.”

  Joey chuckled and put away his gun. “Max, you’re sitting on Doug Schuchard. He’s here to play poker. And he’s late.”

  Max stood and brushed himself off. “No hard feelings,” he said giving Doug a hand and helping him to his feet.

  I flashed a smile. “Doug, this is Max. He can kill with his bare hands.”

  Joey slapped Doug’s shoulder. “Come into my man cave. You need a drink.”

  Doug threw Max a withering look and stromped into the house behind Joey.

  “Well played,” Booker winked. He kissed my cheek and sauntered to the door.

  Booker and Joey are partners in the Ninth Precinct. They’ve been chasing Bridgeport’s bad guys since I can remember. Their sons, BJ and Joey Jr., are in their first year at Cambridge. They’ve been friends since the second grade. They’re both super smart and a little geeky. I’ve long suspected there’s more to their relationship than just buds. The thought doesn’t seem to have crossed Uncle Joey’s mind. I’m not entirely sure he’s accepted the fact that his one hundred forty-pound computer-genius son who loves musicals will never play football. I hope when he finally figures it out, there’s a paper bag, and defibrillator close by.

  Tino hugged me and I squeezed the deli-man back. My arms barely made it around his middle. He’s put away a lot of pasta since his 007 days.

  “You screamed. What happened out here, Caterina?”

  I forced an unconvincing smile. “It’s been a rough night. You know Doug. He was goofing around and startled me.”

  Max searched my face. “You’re not a screamer. There’s something wrong.”

  “Not really,” I lied and piled on the Dr. Pepper Lip Smacker.

  Max, in all his hotness, shot up a brow. I was off my game and he knew it. He took a step toward me, and I could feel his breath on my hair. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  I’ve never had a thing with Max and sometimes I think that’s a crying shame. The man is a Nordic god. But I’m in a relationship with Chance Savino and I don’t cross that line. Chance is smokin’ hot. His cobalt baby blues make me go all gumby inside. And he puts up with my shit. The guy is decent and kind in ways that surprise me.

  “The truth,” Max said.

  I feigned surprise. “What?” And then I made a face and the words spilled out on their own. “We were in the park. My partner got kicked. I got tased. And Captain Bob blames me for losing the body.”

  “The body?” Tino said.

  “The one I crashed on.”

  “Anyone we know?” Max asked.

  I sighed. “He might be a friend of Joey’s.”

  Tino hooked my arm in his and we took the steps together.

  “Come inside, Caterina. I’ll pour you a nice glass of wine and you’ll tell us all about it. And then Max will kick some ass.”

  ***

  Last winter Uncle Joey had Ken Millani add a man cave to his house. The added room oozes testosterone. It’s a shrine to Joey’s high school football trophies, his sports memorabilia, and all things male. It’s a mini sports bar with a pool table, darts, and live games playing on multiple screens. There’s even a TV above the toilet so the guys can take a leak without missing a play.

  My Aunt Linda hates it. She says the testosterone is thick enough in there to grow hair on her back.

  Joey put a glass of Bertagna white burgundy in my hand and I took a big gulp.

  “Have you heard from BJ?” I asked Booker.

  “Every Friday night,” he said. “He calls his mom for money.”

  I laughed. “How do the boys like Harvard?”

  “What’s not to like? They’re in college. That means girls, beer, and pizza every night.”

  Doug knuckle-punched Booker. “Those kids have more smarts than both their papas put together.”

  “That’s not exactly a high bar,” Tino joked and topped my glass.

  Doug shuffled cards. “Who’s in?”

  “Hold on a sec. Cat has something to tell us,” Max said.

  Joey’s gaze narrowed with concern. “What’s going on, Caterina?”

  “If you prefer, we could talk alone in the kitchen.”

  Joey shrugged, arms open, hands out front. “I got no secrets from these guys.”

  OK then.

  I drained the rest of the wine from my glass, took the bottle from Tino’s hand, and filled it up again.

  “It’s bad,” Tino said.

  I slapped the envelope with Joey’s name on it down on the table. Then I sat and told them all how bad it was.

  ***

  Before tonight, I’d seen Uncle Joey tear up three times in my life. Once, when his daughter was stillborn, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The second time was the day his sister passed. And third was the night he pulled a child from a raging house fire. He had been too late to save her.

  The death of Bernie Love was number four.

  Joey dashed a fist across his eyes and tossed back his beer. He plunked six bourbon glasses on the bar. Pulled out his best single malt Scotch and poured doubles.

  Tino passed the glasses around the table and we raised them in the air. “To Bernie.” Glasses clinked.

  “To the smartest guy I ever knew,” Booker said. “Bernie cooked the books for the Provenza family fortune.”

  “The Provenzas?” I blinked.

  Doug chuckled. “Wish I’d known Bernie. He cudda cooked up some of that gravy for me.”

  Tino threw him a you’re an idiot look.

  Joey stared at his glass. “No way Bernie saw it coming. If somebody got to him, they had to grab him from behind. Bernie grew up on the streets. He was a tough guy. Given half a chance, he could take care of himself.”

  “You gotta be tough to work for Nick Provenza.” Booker said. “Provenza associates with some shady characters. It’s the nature of his business.”

  “So how did Bernie come to work for this guy?” Max said.

  “Bernie’s father ran numbers for Old Man Provenza,” Joey said. “When Bernie was fifteen, his dad died. He quit school and Old Man Provenza took him on—gave him odd jobs so he could take care of his mother and sister. He didn’t sweep floors very long though.” Joey gave a crooked smile. “Bernie was a freaking genius with numbers.””

  “I bet,” Doug chortled.

  “The old man soon discovered Bernie could do anything with money. Invest it, hide it, launder it, multiply it. He made Bernie his bookkeeper. After he died, Bernie kept the books for the son.”

  Booker gave a sad smile and rubbed his thumbs over his fingertips. “Bernie had the goddam Midas touch. Hell, Provenza has more investments and hidden overseas accounts than he knows about.”

  Tino picked the envelope off the table and rifled through the crisp, new hundred-dollar bills. He whistled and tossed me a smile.

  “You did good snagging this envelope, Cat. Internal Affairs would be all over Joey’s ass.”

  Doug downed another shot. “That would require a body,” he hooted, “and Cat took care of that. Joey should be safe enough.”

  I kicked him under the table cuz he’s an idiot.

  “Who did that?” Doug demanded.

  I made little finger circles around my ear.

  Max frowned and wrinkled his forehead.“What was the money for?”

  Joey shrugged and splashed more Scotch in our glasses. “Maybe he wanted to thank me. Bernie said he wanted to disappear for a while. I helped him. He needed a new identity and a passport and they had to be foolproof. I hooked him up with a guy
. And I took care of some loose ends so he could get away.”

  Booker heaved a sigh. “He almost made it out. His flight was late tonight and Joey was gonna drive him to the airport.”

  Emboldened by booze, Doug’s voice was menacing. “Some bastard killed your friend, Joey. We’re gonna find who he is. We’re gonna hunt him down. And we’re gonna make him pay.”

  Joey tossed back his Scotch. “Shit. I already know who killed Bernie. What we gotta do is prove it.”

  Chapter Nine

  An odd sound saved me from the monsters chasing my dreams. I opened an eye and gasped. One was here in my bedroom.

  I rubbed my eyes and opened them again. “Mama?”

  She made that disapproving clicking noise with her mouth. That was the sound that woke me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She wagged a hanger with one hand and made an elaborate show of bending over and picking up the jeans I wore last night from the floor.

  This woman has no boundaries.

  She sighed loudly, shook the pants out, and hung them in my closet.

  I sat up in bed. My head reeled and my cotton mouth tasted nasty. Old Scotch. I tugged my covers close and pulled my legs up under my chin. I hated that I felt compelled to explain myself to the clothes police.

  “I’m on a case. I worked late last night.”

  I decided it wasn’t a total lie.

  Last night. The memories came back, pictures spinning in my head.

  Running with Inga in the rain. Crashing through the brush. Diving on a dead man. Being dissed by Captain Bob. And leaving Uncle Joey’s with a thirty-seven-dollar hole in my pocket.

  I suck at poker.

  I hardly remembered driving home. I almost remembered dropping my clothes on the floor and slipping into a Minnie Mouse nightshirt. And I didn’t remember my head hitting the pillow at all.

  I sniffed and the copper smell of blood still lingered in my nostrils. Or maybe it was all in my head.

  “Your sister didn’t sleep in. And she was up all night. Her kids have the flu.”

  “All twenty?”

  Mama let that slide. “Sophia was making chicken broth when I called at seven.

  “Yes, Mama, Sophie’s an inspiration to women everywhere.”

  That was a total lie.

  Mama moved her finger back and forth like the pendulum on a clock. “Tick tock.”

  “Don’t start.”

  My biological clock screamed from Mama’s mouth. “Tick tock. If you let this nice FBI agent get away—”

  “Enough with the tick tock already.”

  Mama smiled and plopped beside me on the bed. “Now, that you’re awake, what did Papa say?”

  “That’s why you’re here at the butt-crack of dawn?”

  “Well? Did you ask where he’s taking me for our honeymoon?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “Not Wisconsin.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank the saints.”

  She should’ve thanked me.

  “Your Papa thinks stuffed animal heads are romantic.”

  “Not this time. Papa wanted to go all out.”

  She giggled like a school girl. “Where are we going? How should I pack?”

  “He said it’s a surprise. But I got this much from him. Dress tropical.”

  Mama made a little jump and clapped. “If it’s sunny and warm, we might just stay all winter.”

  “God yes.”

  “But,” she sighed regretfully, “my children need me here.”

  “God no. I mean, we’ll be fine.”

  “You need me.”

  “Trust me. You’ll still hear my biological clock on the other side of the world.”

  Mama shook her head. “You’re the child that keeps me awake at night. At your age you should have a family of your own. Not stalking some hootchie all night.”

  “I’m working on a murder, Mama. It happened last night right here in Bridgeport.”

  “Do we know this dead person?”

  “Uncle Joey knew him.”

  Mama crossed herself.

  “The Pants On Fire Detective Agency was first on the scene. The Chicago PD is depending on us to identify one of the guys involved. And bring him to justice.”

  Her hand gripped her chest. “This is dangerous, no? These are not nice men.”

  “I know, Mama. It’s not nice to kill people.”

  “This is not your business. You’re not the police. This is much too dangerous.”

  “I’m a trained professional.”

  “You’re a snoop.”

  “I’m working closely with the Ninth Precinct on this case. In a consulting capacity, of course.”

  Her eyes widened and she looked hopeful. This was something she could tell the women at church.

  “Is this true?”

  I made a little cross over my heart with my finger.

  “So this is good with Captain Bob?”

  “Bob honestly couldn’t find the words to thank me.”

  “My little girl, a consultant with the Chicago Police!” Mama mulled the words over, pleased. “This is good. We tell this at dinner tomorrow night. The Savinos should know what kind of girl their boy is marrying.”

  “You’re the one getting married, Mama. Not me. And it’s about flippin’ time.”

  She winked. “And if you change your mind about the double wedding, I had Grandma DeLuca’s wedding dress cleaned. You might want to stuff your bra with something though. Your grandmother had huge tettes.”

  “My boobs are fine, Mama. And they’re not going near that dress.”

  She flashed an indulgent smile like she didn’t believe me. “You and your FBI man can talk to Father Timothy tomorrow night. He’ll be with us at the steakhouse when we meet the Savinos.”

  “Not the Steak House,” I implored her. “You have to change the dinner to Indian or Thai or someplace with lots of vegetables.”

  “You know vegetables give your Papa gas.”

  “Mama, I told you already. Chance’s parents are vegetarians. They don’t eat meat.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly, Caterina. Everyone eats meat.”

  Cleo poked her head in the doorway. She looked way too cheery for a woman who should have a brutal hangover.

  “Crazy people don’t eat meat,” she said.

  Mama gave me the eye. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Don’t encourage her, Cleo.”

  “Breakfast is ready,” Cleo said taking Mama’s arm. “I cut up some melon. Popovers are hot from the oven. And we have Mama’s best-ever chokecherry jam.”

  Mama beamed.

  “And we got bacon. Lots of crispy bacon,” Cleo said. “Ain’t no crazy people here, Mama.”

  Right.

  Cleo and Mama scooted to the kitchen laughing.

  “You don’t want to get into a crazy contest that you’re sure to win,” I hollered.

  I kicked off the comforter, slapped bunny slippers on my feet, and padded down the hall behind them.

  ***

  When Mama hit the road to shop for beachwear, Cleo and I carried our coffees to the living room and sat by the fire. I told her about the body in the park, Rolex Man, and the snickers I got from Captain Bob and his Ninth Precinct.

  Her eyes got big as saucers. “You crashed on a stiff?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She wagged a scolding finger at me. I shuddered. She was turning into my mother.

  “It’s insane to go running at night alone,” she said. “Why didn’t you wake me to go with you?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have come.”

  “Exactly. Because it’s insane.”

  I told her the res
t of it. About the poker party and what Uncle Joey told us about Bernie Love.

  “Bernie wanted to retire. He’s worked for the Provenza family since he was a kid. He told his boss to find a replacement—someone Bernie could teach to take over the books. But no one can do what Bernie did. When you manage the books for a guy like Provenza, you know all the family secrets. It’s all locked in that super brain of his. Retirement might not be an option.”

  Cleo grunted. “Sounds a little paranoid to me.”

  “Maybe. As long as Bernie was on the inside, he’s one of the family. But if he’s outside the life and protection of the organization, he’s a potential target for anyone coming after the family’s financial interests.”

  Cleo looked skeptical. “Was anyone coming?”

  “Joey didn’t think so. But if the Feds or IRS start poking around the family business, they’ll be all over Bernie. Joey says Bernie was fiercely loyal and he’d never give the Provenzas up. Maybe someone wasn’t willing to take that chance.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yep. Uncle Joey says the boss put a hit out on Bernie. He was killed hours before his escape to Costa Rica where no one could find him.”

  “This is a job for the Pants On Fire Detective Agency.” She dragged a gun from the waistband of her jeans. It was, in a word, large. Like a small cannon. “We’re gonna get this Provenza guy. And his dog-kicking partner.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Damn straight. Frank gave me this little pocket rocket. Do you like it?”

  She rubbed her hand along the long, gleaming barrel in a way that almost made me uncomfortable.

  “Whoa, girlfriend. Leave it in your pants.”

  She tucked the gun away. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’m heading to the Ninth Precinct to look through the mug books. If Rolex Man’s ugly mug is there, we’ll have a name. And he’s all ours.”

  She nodded. “I’ll stop by Provenza’s house and talk to the staff. See what kind of dirt I can dig up on the family.”

  “They’re not just going to let you in.”

  “You worry about your mugshot. I got a plan.”

  “A plan? You’re not gonna shoot your way in, are you? I’m pretty sure their security has bigger guns.”

  She frowned. “Really? Cuz we can swing by my house.”